


They Aren't Wrong

by Gwendolyn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:54:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3699935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwendolyn/pseuds/Gwendolyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lavellan clan exemplifies all that the humans fear of the Dalish: they're half-feral creatures that dance naked in the moonlight, sleep under the light of the stars and a canopy of trees, and, of course, sacrifice humans to the elven pantheon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Aren't Wrong

It’s been this way since she can remember.

The full moons leave her breathless with excitement, because it’s a time where she can relax, and breathe, and let go of the awful tension, sitting like a stone beneath her heart. She gathers with her clan and they spend all night dancing, jubilant, a mass of bodies writhing to the sound of the wind through the trees and the warbling song raised into the night by each of their throats. She can’t ever deciding to open her mouth to join in, but every time, she finds the notes ripped out of her throat, stolen from her chest and thrown to the night sky almost desperately.

She’s earned her place among the hunters even though she also learns the lore, learns how to weave spells between her fingers and feel the frost in her veins. Sometimes they can cook the meat, but sometimes they don’t, and she’s never felt anything better than the warmth and tang of fresh blood coating her tongue.

She revels in the feel of soil beneath her toes, her long hair unbound and dancing against her shoulder blades. The scents of the forest are intoxicating, the feel of the wheels of the aravel gliding beneath her resting body is soothing. When they sit around the fire in the evening, sharing the lore that’s been branded into their hearts through countless retellings, she laughs with her family, feels loved, and loves in return.

She loves the wild, loves her life, loves her clan.

Sometimes, though, she hates it all.

When the hunters bring back a squalling child, a man with shadows under his eyes, a woman who does nothing but sob and hide her face, she hates them.

When the clan gathers around the prisoners with eager eyes alight with excitement, she hates them.

When the Keeper asks her to restrain them with bonds of ice, she hates her.

When she closes her eyes and creates the bonds, pretends to concentrate on forming chains of ice so she doesn’t have to watch (but she can still hear, and oh, how sometimes she wishes she could cut her ears off, because her imagination is just as wild as the rest of her, and the images are painted behind her eyelids, clear and cruel), she hates herself.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is going to be my first attempt at a fic, but I hope you like it! This first chapter is just establishing my Lavellan's backstory. I may change her name from Ellana later, but for now, generic is fine. I'm excited to be writing this, and I may polish up this chapter later, but for now, thanks for reading!


End file.
